The Food Fighters

Jamaal pressed his little cherub cheeks against the plane of glass. A tray of donuts beckoned him inside their shop with their sugary, glazed veneers. The donuts’ multi-hued sprinkles fashioned themselves into a smile, prophesizing the promise of a good time. All Jamaal had to do was get his foot in the door.

His mother tugged on his hand. Jamaal held fast though, strengthened by youth and emboldened by temptation. Like his Marine Corp father, Jamaal had no intentions of leaving a man behind. He tugged back on his mother’s hand. “Mommy, mommy, mommy! Can I get a donut? We haven’t had any for so long!”

Jamaal’s mother knotted her cheek to one side and loosened her grip. The child had a point – it had been a long time, at least a week. And her son had not given her any problems over that time; shouldn’t good behavior be rewarded? She moved her chin with a curt upward tilt. Jamaal beamed and now lead his mother by the hand into the bakery.

The dizzying array of orbicular sweets threatened to overcome Jamaal’s decision-making tree. Chocolate, or chocolate and vanilla? Sprinkles or no sprinkles? Glazed or powdered? Jelly-filled maybe? The choice was no small task and being on the way to learn something at school, the child should probably hurry.

“Psst! Hey, kid,” a saccharine voice spoke from behind its hand. A donut with white glaze and multicolored sprinkles jumped on top of the display case. It pointed a thumb at itself. “Hey, kid, choose us.”

Jamaal was almost stunned into silence by a talking donut, but he was a child after all. “Wha? Who…who are you, mister?” he asked in a high pitch.

“I’m Dast, er, Danny Donut! You already know me and my family. We’re the best tasting things in this place! We look good, we smell good, we’re chewy before we melt in your mouth; take us with you and your senses will explode,” the donut waved with jazz hands.

“Mom, can we buy a whole dozen?” Jamaal asked tugging on his mother’s shirt. The boy’s mother smiled at her son without her eyes, looked at the donut, then turned her attention to an employee and asked for a double espresso.

“She’s going to say yes, Danny,” Jamaal announced proudly. “She’ll give in. I always get what I want.”

“And I always get what I want,” the donut snickered under his breath. “That was too easy.”

Just as Jamaal was going to point out which donuts he wanted, a healthy orange sporting a fine Italian suit and Ray Ban’s rolled up onto the counter and pointed to Danny. “Stop right there!” the orange shouted. The loquacious donut cringed.

“Oh, no, it’s Agent Orange!” the confection squeaked.

“Wha? You’re a talking orange!” Jamaal proclaimed wide-eyed.

“Yes. Very observant, young man,” the orange replied in a cocksure tone. “I’m here to help you, son. You see, this donut doesn’t exactly have your best interests at heart. If anything, Dastardly Donut here intends to hurt you more than help you.” The fruit sounded like an old-timey newsreel, and just about as educational.

Why would the donut do such a thing? Jamaal couldn’t figure it out. “What is he talking about, Danny?”

“Don’t listen to him, kid,” the donut sneered. “He’s just mad because we’re more popular than he is.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, young man,” the orange started, “Donuts are very popular, but that’s not necessarily a good thing.”

The orange rolled a bit closer to Jamaal, put one hand on the kid’s shoulder and removed his shades with the other so he could speak earnestly, eye-to-eye.

“Kid, one donut from time to time won’t hurt you much. But this donut here wants your mother to buy him and eleven of his closest friends. Problem is, too much sugar in your blood over a short period of time can be very damaging to your long term physical and mental health. Although a donut will make your brain feel really good for a little while, what that sugar rush is actually doing is addicting you to that feeling. Let me tell you something, kid, being addicted to anything isn’t good for you. Worst of all, a donut has almost no nutrients besides sugar. It’s all calories that will slow you down and make you hungrier, making you feel bad when there’s no donut in that mouth of yours. You’re sure not going to grow up big and strong like your dad if you eat donuts all the time. You do want to be like your father, right, kid?”

“You know about my dad?” Jamaal asked, incredulous.

The orange slipped his shades back on. “Agent Orange does his homework, son.”

The dastardly donut hastily shoved the orange out of the way, landing the fruit on its backside. “He’s fooling you, fool. He wants you to eat him instead.” A half dozen jelly donuts grabbed Agent Orange by the arms, restraining him.

“It’s true, I would rather you eat an orange,” the citrusy agent struggled. “Listen, kid, fruits like me are sweet but also have fiber to make you feel fuller longer. We also have lots of important vitamins and minerals like vitamins A, C, and E, and calcium to make you healthier and stronger. I’m so strong see how it takes so many of them to hold me back?”

A sprinkle fell off the dastardly donut’s brow and bounced off the counter. “You are going to eat a donut,” the donut snarled. Jamaal stepped back.

A trumpet sounded from on high and everyone looked up (except Jamaal’s mother who was calmly sipping an espresso). Parachuting from…somewhere…two yellowish-green (or is it greenish-yellow) tropical fruits wearing bandoliers dropped onto the counter.

“Oh, no!” one of the jelly donuts shrieked. “Papaya Troopers! Run!” The jelly donuts turned the orange loose and spun on their edges.

“Not so fast,” one of the papaya’s furrowed its brow. The carica food took two small, almost round, smooth red fruits from its bandolier. It hurled one at the closest jelly donut, exploding the unhealthy snack across the counter.

“I guess he wasn’t ready for that jelly,” Agent Orange quipped of the mess. The orange fruit jabbed a thumb at Jamaal.

The armed papaya launched a cherry right at the child’s face which the boy instinctive caught in his mouth. There the bomb exploded, taking the young man’s flavor virginity.

“Wow, that tastes really good,” Jamaal noted.

“And it’s good for you,” the orange spoke. Meanwhile the donut that had almost fooled the child had rolled away but stopped itself at the threshold of the shop’s entrance.

“As ever wrapped up in yourself to notice me getting away, Agent Orange,” the dastardly donut swiped. Then he tucked his arms and legs in and rolled out the door and into a gutter.

“Shall we go after him, sir?” one of the papayas asked the agent.

“We’ll let him go for now,” the orange ordered. “I’m sure we’ll see him again. Right now, giving this boy an education about food is more important.” Agent Orange turned towards the child. “Kid, do you know what phytochemicals are? They’re special chemicals found in many fruits and vegetables and have been found to have many health benefits…”

Jamaal listened with rapt attention, if not to the information than to the talking food itself.

Jamaal’s mother, wanting nothing more than to pretend the entire situation wasn’t happening, was on the phone. “Yes, Dr. Wenner? I need a refill on my Clozapine prescription. It’s started again.”

Share this:

Like this:

johnjvinacci
John J. Vinacci is a freelance academic and content writer with a B.Sc. in Philosophy. In his free time, John enjoys writing fantasy and science fiction, adventure hiking, and playing guitar and bass. He lives in Hawaii with his wife and their two fascist cats. Follow him on Twitter @johnjvinacci1